The Tenant
by xoxoLee
Summary: Stephanie McMahon is a new woman. She is caring for daughter, attempting to rebuild her reputation and trying to prove herself wrong at the same time, but can she control her life and an old acquaintance at the same time? Sequel to Coming Clean.
1. Chapter 1

The sky was royal blue and streaked with lavender as the day awakened. Most of the world was silent but somewhere in Connecticut the floorboards squeaked as a morning ritual began. The coffee pot had started and the end of peace and quiet was almost near. A short series of beeps sounded as the coffee finished and a blonde haired woman rose with a sigh. From under the kitchen sink she pulled a large bowl which was promptly filled with ice cold water.

The floorboard squeaked more although she tried to make her steps light for the only innocent resident in the house. The other? He was about to get what was coming to him. She rose the bowl over his head and whispered a soft count. "1..2..3..4.." And on five she dumped the contents over a disheveled figure laying on the couch.

"What the hell was that for? Jesus tap dancing Christ, can a man sleep without being harassed?"

It was six in the morning, much too early for the inevitable insults that were ready to fly between the two adults residing in the house. With an empty bottle in his lap and a startled expression on his face, Eric Bischoff looked as though he were a homeless man that had stumbled to greener pastures. Though his back was flat on the couch the rest of his body was a tangled mess. One arm was hanging over the back of the couch. His leg crossed over the other and limply dangled over the side.

While most people would wonder how a person could wind up in such an unusual state, his unaffectionate companion, Stephanie McMahon, found the answer at the bottom of a bottle. One normally didn't expect to find a man drunk in their living room and neither did Stephanie McMahon, but she wasn't surprised to find him laying there after his late night 'liquid therapy session', as Eric lovingly referred to it. To Stephanie it was just another night where he moaned and complained about 'the business' and about the so-called rats and cheats he had encountered until she gave up and went to sleep.

"Eric, we had a deal," Stephanie said in her business tone. "I told you that if you're going to drink in my house you can't be so blatantly drunk and right in the living room. Personally, I don't care if you want to put yourself on display so I can invite my friends from the office over to laugh at you, but considering she can't even sit up by herself, I don't think it would be appropriate to have to explain to my daughter why the angry old man on the couch smells funny."

The so-called angry old man glared as the two engaged in a thirty second cold war with mutual contempt bouncing off of each other until Eric surrendered with a growl and covered his face with a pillow. "You're a mess," Stephanie said as she shook her head and began to walk away, but they both knew that already. "Oh and Eric," she started, looking back at him. "Since you're up, do you mind fixing Aurora's formula for me?"

The New York Times was spread out on the kitchen table for Stephanie to read as she sipped at a cup of coffee she held in one hand and gently rocked Aurora's car seat with the other. "Any plans for the day?" Random, yes, but if there was one thing that Stephanie couldn't stand it was an awkward silence in her own home. In a daze, Eric sat back in his chair and stared blankly at her. "Eric." Stephanie snapped, harsher than her previous tone. Eric grumbled something that could hardly be mistaken for English and closed his eyes.

"The usual then?" Stephanie set down the cup and pulled Aurora out of her seat to hold her in her arms, smoothing that few locks of hair on her head as she spoke. "Let me guess: you're going to sleep for eight hours, wake up, fall asleep in the shower, wake up again, possibly get dressed and then go to lunch on my tab just to harass girls that could pass for a long lost daughter. Am I about right?"

Eric grumbled once again but this time Stephanie played along with his silent act. "I see," she said mockingly understanding. "I think I have a better idea. I'm a busy woman, you know, and I rarely have time to make personal appearances, especially with Aurora to take care of. Today I have the opportunity to combine work, a social life and Aurora, and you're going to help me. My sister-in-law is throwing an office party and myself and Aurora are invited. You have the pleasurable task of helping me take care of the little angel during said party."

Pleased with her plan, Stephanie stood up from the table and nudged the paper toward Eric. "You might want to read up on some current events. These things tend to pop up in conversation. And you might want to shave too. Remember, you're going to be in the company of old friends." Old friends. Even in his Neanderthal-like state Eric knew that a storm was brewing and that he would be in the eye of it.


	2. Chapter 2

For the first time in what seemed like ages, Stephanie McMahon was able to walk through her house to the beautiful sound of silence without worrying about stumbling across a semi-dead acquaintance named Eric Bischoff. It was crazy how things changed. She had almost forgotten that it was possible to have a normal afternoon. The sun was shining through the window, silly alien creatures were singing to her daughter through the television, and she was standing in the main hallway staring at herself in a full-length mirror. One by one she picked apart her reflection.

Her hair was too flat. Her knees looked too fat for her skirt. _She_ was too fat.

She was going crazy.

"You look exactly the same," Eric said in a deadpan voice, slowly creeping up behind her as he struggled to button his shirt correctly.

Stephanie cleared her throat, pulling her mind away from her self-evaluation as she turned to face the man behind her. He had improved in a matter of hours. Although she questioned his sobriety, it wouldn't be too outlandish to suggest that Eric was beginning to show promise as an attractive man. With his facial hair tamed and his silver locks soft and presentable there would be nothing left to allow the assumption that he was indeed a crazy homeless man. Well, almost nothing.

"Thanks for reassuring me. Now, if you don't mind, let me help you with your shirt," Stephanie said as she pushed his hands away from his buttons. Taking a calming deep breath, she slowly buttoned his shirt from bottom to top. Once she had finished she took a step away from him and circled him like a hawk would a wounded puppy. And like the wounded puppy he was, Eric frowned as he turned with her, suspicious of her movement.

"I'm not sure you're ready for what we're about to walk into. We're walking into high society and the history of professional wrestling all at one time. It's going to be Dynasty and Wrestlemania in one," Stephanie said with her hands on her hips, staring him down.

"I know, Stephie," he replied bitterly. "I'm not sure how good your memory is but we worked with all of those people together. In fact, we worked with them not too long ago. They're assholes. You don't need to remind me."

Shaking her curly blonde tresses, Stephanie stalked away from her roommate and into the living room where she found Aurora still amused by the brightly colored fools on the screen. Picking up her daughter she gently combed through her hair with her fingertips and looked back at the man Aurora fondly knew as Uncle Eric.

"I'm not trying to remind you, _Eric._ I'm simply trying refresh your memory. All of those meetings that ended with people throwing fits--" Stephanie began to explain before she was cut off by the smirking man.

"All of those people were you, Princess," Eric reminded her.

"Anyway. You're an asshole. No one likes you, Eric. I was trying to be subtle about it but you know what, fuck that. If you step out of line or step over toward the bar more than once I will pull you aside and rip your throat out. Settle your differences however you want but do them when you're not anywhere near me or my kid," Stephanie said as she stared him straight in the eye to get her seriousness across.

There was no humor or lightheartedness in Stephanie's eyes at all. In fact, her former skin seemed to be emerging as a fire burned in her eyes. She was serious..more serious than she had been since Eric stumbled back into her life. They both noticed it but Stephanie chose to ignore it. "Show no weakness," her father's voice shouted in her head just as Eric's conscience was shouting in his head, "Let it go." He couldn't.

"Why do I have to go to this thing anyway? I mean, if you really needed someone to watch Rory then you would leave her hear or call a sitter," he said, thinking out loud.

As the mother busied herself with preparing a bag for her daughter, Eric waited for an answer. When he realized he wasn't getting one he continued, his voice softening as best as it could.

"Does it have something to do with Rory? I mean, it doesn't matter if it does..or if it doesn't. I'm just wondering. I know that you and Hunter don't have the best relationship, although apparently he has a close one with your family..Am I getting somewhere?"

Angrily, Stephanie zipped up the bag and flung it over her shoulder quick enough to startle the baby who could only blink in surprise. With as much intensity as she had garnered from their conversation, she glared at him.

"I'd rather you not talk about my personal life. I just want you to do what I ask of you without any witty remarks or insults under your breath. I'm letting you stay in my house. No one else would do that for you so I think you might want to be more grateful than you're acting. Now grab your jacket and lock the door."

With the door slamming shut behind her, Eric was left to wade in the waters of Hurricane Stephanie. The woman knew how to stir up a disaster but it didn't surprise him. She was falling apart. Her stitching was ready to burst for all to see. It was upsetting for Eric with their history and what he knew of her family, but there was a joy at the bottom of his stomach that dancing.

Stephanie McMahon needed him. She was using him and he wasn't going to let that thought fade.


End file.
